Death at the Dolphin Page 27
Peregrine gave a short ejaculation but when Alleyn looked at him said: ‘No. Go on. Go on.’
‘Having dumped the guitar Grove returns to the stairway from the stage to the circle, climbs it and waits for midnight in the upper box. And, throughout this performance, Trevor peeps, follows, listens, spies.
‘At midnight Jobbins leaves his post under the treasure and goes downstairs to ring Police and Fire. Grove darts to the wall panel, opens it, uses his torch and manipulates the combination. There had been a lot of talk about the lock after the safe was installed and before the treasure was put into it. At that time it was not guarded and I think he may have done a bit of experimenting, after hours, on the possible “glove” combination.’
Winter Morris knocked on his forehead and groaned. Marcus Knight said: ‘Oh God!’
‘He opened the safe, removed the display-stand with its contents and I think only then realized he had engaged the switch that operates the front doors and the interior lighting. At that moment Trevor, who had stolen quite close (just as he did to me when I looked at the safe), said – it is his favourite noise at the moment – “z-z-z-z-yock. Slash.”
‘It must have given Grove a nightmarish jolt. He turned, saw the boy standing there in the darkened circle and bolted into the foyer clutching his loot. Only to find Jobbins rushing upstairs at him. He pushed the dolphin pedestal over and down. As Jobbins fell, Trevor came out of the circle and saw it all. Trevor is still not quite clear but he thinks he screamed. He knows Grove made for him and he remembers plunging down the central steps in the circle. Grove caught him at the bottom. Trevor says – and this may be true – that he snatched the display-stand and threw it overboard before Grove could recover it. The last thing he remembers now, is Grove’s face close to his own. It was the sight of it this morning, near to him, in association with the single twang effected by my colleague, Inspector Fox, who was modestly concealed behind a screen, that bridged the gap in Trevor’s memory.’
‘“A faint pefume”,’ Peregrine said loudly, ‘“and a most melodious twang”.’
‘That’s Aubrey, isn’t it?’ Alleyn asked. ‘But shouldn’t it be a curious perfume? Or not?’
Peregrine stared at him. it is,’ he said, ‘and it should. You’re dead right and why the hell it’s eluded me I cannot imagine. I heard it, you know, when Jobbins was hunting the boy.’
Emily said: ‘And, of course, it’s a single plangent note that brings down the curtain on The Cherry Orchard.’
‘You see, Emily?’ said Peregrine.
‘I see,’ she said.
‘What the hell is all this?’ Knight asked plaintively.
‘I’ll get on with it,’ Alleyn said. ‘After a brief struggle Grove, now desperate, rids himself of Trevor by precipitating him into the stalls. He hears Hawkins at the stage-door and once again bolts into the circle foyer. He knows Hawkins will come straight through to the front and he hasn’t time to retrieve his guitar, get the key, unlock, unbolt and unbar the pass-door. There lies the body, dressed in his own outlandish coat. He strips off the coat, takes the scarf from the pocket to protect his own clothes and re-enters the darkened circle, to all intents and purposes, Jobbins. Hawkins, now in the stalls, sees him, addresses him as Jobbins, and is told to make the tea. He goes back-stage. Grove has time, now, to bundle the body back into the coat, fetch his guitar and let himself out. He drives to Chelsea and gets there fully equipped to be the life and soul of Miss Meade’s party.’
‘And he was, you know,’ Destiny said. ‘He was.’
She clasped her hands, raised them to her face and began to weep. Knight gave an inarticulate cry and went to her.
‘Never mind, my darling,’ he said. ‘Never mind. We must rise above. We must forget.’
Mr Conducis cleared his throat. Destiny threw him a glance that was madly eloquent of some ineffable generalization. He avoided it.
‘The motive,’ Alleyn said, ‘was, of course, theft. Harry Grove knew a great deal about Mrs Constantia Guzman. He knew that if the treasure was stolen she would give a fortune under the counter for it.’
Knight, who was kissing Destiny’s hands, groaned slightly and shuddered.
‘But I think he knew more about her than that,’ Alleyn went on. ‘She was a guest of Mr Conducis’s six years ago, in the Kalliope when the yacht was wrecked off Cape St Vincent. At that time, six years ago, Grove was going through a bad patch and taking any jobs he could get. Lorry driving. Waiter in a strip-joint. And steward.’
He turned to Mr Conducis. ‘I was about to ask you yesterday when Grove himself interrupted us: was he a steward on board the Kalliope?’
Nobody looked at Mr Conducis.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘How did that come about?’
‘He brought himself to my notice. His father was a distant and unsatisfactory connection of mine. I considered this to be no reason for employing him but he satisfied me of his usefulness.’
‘And he sold you the glove and documents?’
‘Yes.’
‘For thirty pounds?’
‘I have already said so.’
Marcus Knight, whose manner towards Mr Conducis had been an extraordinary blend of hauteur and embarrassment now said loudly: ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t believe what, Mr Knight?’ Alleyn asked.
‘That he was aboard that – vessel.’
‘You were scarcely there long enough to notice,’ Mr Conducis said coldly.
‘I was there long enough – ’ Marcus began on a high note and dried. ‘But no matter,’ he said. ‘No matter.’
Alleyn stood up and so did everybody else except Mr Conducis.
‘I won’t keep you any longer,’ Alleyn said. ‘I would like to say how sorry I am that this has happened and how much I hope your play and your theatre will ride out the storm. I’m sure they will. I’m taking an unorthodox line when I tell you that Grove has said he will not contest the accusations of assault. He will, he states, admit to taking the treasure, overturning the bronze dolphin and struggling with the boy. He will plead that these were instinctive, selfprotective actions committed without intention to kill. This defence, if adhered to, will mean a short trial with little evidence being called and I think, not a great deal of publicity.’
Little Morris said: ‘Why’s he taking that line? Why isn’t he going all out for an acquittal?’
‘I asked him that. He said he was suddenly sick of the whole thing. And he added,’ Alleyn said with a curious twist in his voice, ‘that he thought it would work out better that way for William Shakespeare, Mr Peregrine Jay and The Dolphin.’
He saw then that the eyes of all the company had filled with tears.
When they had gone he turned back to Mr Conducis.
‘You said, sir, that you had something you wished to tell me.’
‘I have something I wish to ask you. Has he said anything about me?’
‘A little. He said you owed each other nothing.’
‘I will pay for his defence. Let him know that.’
‘Very well.’
‘Anything else?’
‘He said that as far as he is concerned – this was his phrase – he would keep the glove over his knuckles and I could tell you so. He asked me to give you this.’
Alleyn gave Mr Conducis an envelope. He was about to put it in his pocket but changed his mind, opened it and read the short message it contained. He held out the paper to Alleyn.
‘It seems,’ Alleyn read, ‘that we are both victims of irresistible impulse. Which leads me to the ludicrous notion that you will, as they say, “understand”. You needn’t worry. I’m bored with it all and intend to drop it.’
Down below someone whistled, crossed the foyer and slammed the front doors. The Dolphin was very quiet.
‘He clung to the raft,’ said Mr Conducis, ‘and tried to climb aboard it. He would have overturned it. I smashed his knuckles with the writing-desk and thought I’d drowned him. His
hands were gloved. They curled and opened and slid away in their own blood. Nobody saw. He has blackmailed me ever since.’
II
‘They are not cancelling,’ said Winter Morris, giving the box-office plans a smart slap. ‘And there’s very little publicity. I can’t understand it.’
‘Could it be the hand of Conducis?’
‘Could be, dear boy. Could be. Power,’ said little Morris, ‘corrupts didn’t somebody say? It may do: but it comes in handy, dear boy, it comes in handy.’
He ran upstairs to his office and could be heard singing.
‘All the same,’ Peregrine said to Emily, ‘I hope it’s not the hand of Conducis. I hope it’s The Dolphin. And us. You know,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure he stayed behind to unburden himself to Alleyn.’
‘What of?’
‘Who can tell! I’ve got a feeling it was something to do with his yacht. He’s behaved so very oddly whenever it came up.’
‘Perhaps,’ Emily speculated idly, ‘you reminded him of it. That morning.’
‘I? How?’
‘Oh,’ she said vaguely, ‘people drowning, you know, or nearly drowning, or hanging on to bits of wreckage. Perhaps he was glad he rescued you. Or something.’
‘You never know,’ Peregrine said.
He put his arm round her and she leant against him. They had become engaged and were happy.
They looked round them at the upsidedown cupids, the caryatids, the portrait of Mr Adolphus Ruby now prominently displayed and the graceful double flight of stairs. The bronze dolphins were gone and where the safe had been was a montage of the Grafton portrait overlaid by Kean, Garrick, Siddons, Irving and the present great Shakespearians all very excitingly treated by Jeremy Jones.
‘If you belong to the theatre,’ Peregrine said, ‘you belong utterly.’
They went out to the portico.
Here they found an enormous Daimler and a chauffeur. It was like a recurrent symbol in a time play and for a moment Peregrine felt as if Mr Conducis had called again to take him to Drury Place.
‘Is that Dessy’s car?’ Emily said.
But it wasn’t Destiny Meade in the back seat. It was an enormous and definitively hideous lady flashing with diamonds, lapped in mink and topped with feathers.
She tapped on the glass and beckoned.
When Peregrine approached she let down the window and, in a deep voice, addressed him.
‘You can perhaps assist me. I have this morning arrived from America. I vish to inquire about the Shakespearian Relics. I am Mrs Constantia Guzman.’
By The Same Author
A Man Lay Dead
Enter a Murderer
The Nursing Home Murder
Death in Ecstasy
Vintage Murder
Artists in Crime
Death in a White Tie
Overture to Death
Death at the Bar
Surfeit of Lampreys
Death and the Dancing Footman
Colour Scheme
Died in the Wool
Final Curtain
Swing, Brother, Swing
Opening Night
Spinsters in Jeopardy
Scales of Justice
Off With His Head
Singing in the Shrouds
False Scent
Hand in Glove
Dead Water
Death at the Dolphin
Clutch of Constables
When in Rome
Tied up in Tinsel
Black As He’s Painted
Last Ditch
Grave Mistake
Photo-Finish
Light Thickens
Black Beech and Honeydew (autobiography)
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Ngaio Marsh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works
Copyright © Ngaio Marsh Ltd 1966
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